1685
by Russaellia Butterfly
Summary: Jack Sparrows past life mixed with a Tolkein twist of fantasy and a few grams of spicy romance


**Burning Mists**

_Part 1 _

Lynn held his hand tight in her small white fingers. She was leaning over his twitching body, tears touched his grimy skin like the kisses of first rain. His eyes locked on hers, his jaw clenched even tighter as if he wished to tell her something.

"James?" her gentle child's voice sobbed his name.

The boy was skeletal, he couldn't be over thirteen years old, his usually soft brown hair was greasy and lay matted and muddy beneath his head.

"James, please get better… please." She grasped his hand all the tighter, as if she could keep his spirit from leaving simply by holding tight enough. He was the only thing she had left in the dark unknown, he was the only reason she hadn't died in childish despair long ago in the gutter. He was slowly quieting, his tense muscles relaxing one by one. His muddy blue-green eyes were still gazing desperately into his little sister's face. His jaw loosened.

"Lynn…" His eyes rolled back, and his fingers, which had been holding her hands just as tightly as she had been holding his, loosened. His whole face seemed to glaze over like the ocean on a calm day. James Chandler was dead.

Lynn held onto him all the more determinedly, he would come back, he would. Nothing could take him away, he had always come back - he had to come back, he would never leave her like that. He wouldn't. He just wouldn't. Despite the fact that Lynn knew all these things, he still lay there. Lifeless, limp, still warm from the blood that flowed no longer. Lynn was shocked. She cuddled close to him, her tears congealing and drying. She nuzzled into his chest like she had so many times before when she had been frightened or cold. This time his warm, comforting hands did not rock her back and forth, this time his strong, seemingly invincible heartbeat did not pulse in her ear. She gazed out at the now dark and angry world with her tearful blue eyes, her sanctuary was torn down, her last refuge gone as suddenly as a jumping fish disappears in the waves, never to return. And she huddled closer to the slowly stiffening body, homeless.

**_1685- Swansea Wales_**

**_ Lynne Chandler Age: 7, 1685- Swansea Wales_**

Swansea lay sprawled out at the southwest base of Brecon Beacons, which rolled gently away from the Bristol Bay. Seagulls called with salty voices, not unlike the harsh voices of the English sailors unloading cargo from the newly arrived vessels. He was trying to play with de kids.

As the night's fog was burned away by the rising sun, life slowly began to stir in Swansea. Roosters crowed haplessly in the large city, far from their open farmland and none to happy with the seagulls competitive calls. Happy-go-lucky mutts barked enthusiastically at each other, delighted as always that another day had started. Cats hissed protectively over purring kittens and dead mice. The rowdy laughter of the sailors echoed across the decks as the people began to light their cold iron stoves and warm their stiff fingers.

Lynne opened her eyes. She hadn't really slept during the frosty night between the hunger, despair, and throbbing loneliness. Shivering beneath her only ragged blanket, she moved away from her brother's cold body, careful not to look at his lifeless face. They were beneath an upturned wheelbarrow, in a muddy alley between two brick buildings, which shaded Lynne from the suns warming rays. She walked out from the narrow strip of darkness were they had been their only haven for the past few days.

To Lynne everything looked different now that James was not holding her in his arms. The houses no longer looked cozy and comfortable, but dark and unknown. The seagulls no longer looked playful and worriless, but savage and dangerous. But most of all it was the sea that looked different; James' beloved sea which he had often told Lynne that he would sail someday, on his own ship, with a hardy crew. It no longer beckoned to Lynne with its promise of unknown treasures and exciting discoveries. The sea stared sternly back at Lynne, daring her to approach its once comforting waters.

Lynne cowered against the brick wall, fading against the shadows, her small figure almost invisible in the throng of locals headed for the market, or the docks, or perhaps a sweetheart's secret meeting place. Lynn gazed out uncertainly.

"Lynne, Lynne Chandler?" A voice woke her from her trance, and she started, looking around for whomever it was who had called out to her.

Standing in the street, a bucket of cold water sloshing about at his side, Cyrus Whickers looked questioningly at her.

"Where's James?" he asked. "Looking for a bit of work?"

The Chandler family had once lived right next door to the Whickers, and James and Cyrus were childhood friends and had had many a romp about the docks before the tragedy that had killed Mrs. And Mr. Chandler, leaving two orphaned and homeless children.

Cyrus and James didn't really see each other after that, and so Lynne had forgotten all about him until that very moment.

"Cyrus." She gazed at him, unable to really answer his question. "James is… he's gone."

Cyrus chuckled good naturedly. "Yes, I can see he is gone Little Lynne, but gone _where_ I believe was my question.

"I don't know." Lynne answered truthfully, though it was possible he had gone to heaven, Lynne wasn't quite absolutely sure for certain that it was the case.

Cyrus' laughing mouth tightened at the corners and he frowned thoughtfully, his fourteen year old brain confused. James wasn't the type to leave his precious sister alone like that. It just wasn't proper.

"Well, you look hungry Little Lynne." He said, his face turning back to a warm smile. "Why don't you come to our house for breakfast, I'm sure Mama won't mind."

Lynne nodded slowly and stepped into the street. She was rather hungry. Cyrus took her small hand, shifting the bucket of water to his left side and then walked up the street to the Whickers place, a small and strangely quiet Lynne in tow.

Warmth emanated from the Whickers' blazing stove and Lynne hurried over, warming her small shivering body in the waves of heat. Ann, Cyrus' older sister, was startled as the little girl moved in right beside her.

"Who's this?" she demanded, gazing intently Lynne's guilty blue eyes.

"Lynne Chandler. What's she doin' 'ere?" Mrs. Whickers bustled in, her sharp beady eyes picking Lynne out immediately in her orderly kitchen.

"Caught 'er outside an alley, she looked so 'ungry ma… let 'er stay fer breakfast." Cyrus said around a bite of fresh bread.

Mrs. Whickers snatched the half eaten morsel from his hand. "Not 'afore breakfast Cyrus, you know better 'an that!" She turned her attention to Lynne. Muddy, bony, frightened, and shivering Lynne, and her eyes softened for a moment, her mothering emotions stirred.

'Aye, she can stay fer breakfast I reckons, but I'm not 'aving such a filthy chile' at my table. Anne, you go boil up some water and give 'er a good scrub, and don't be all day neither! Cyrus, you goes and gets me some more water, this'll hardly do. An' somebody 'as got ter go fetch'n Mr. Whickers!" Mrs. Wickers pulled a set of plates out of the cupboard and busied herself setting the table.

Anne herded Lynne out of the kitchen and ordered her to sit on a pile of blankets while she went to warm some water and for land sakes not to go getting her muddy feet on any of the sheets!

Lynne sat obediently on the blankets, her bare feet sticking out onto the scrubbed wooden floor. She felt very strange, she couldn't remember ever being in the Whicker's house before, for that matter, she couldn't recall being in a proper home ever before, but then she was only seven years old and therefore didn't possess a very long memory. She liked it. She tilted her head carefully against the thick blanket and closed her eyes.

She was awoken unpleasantly by a pair of cold hands lifting her from her warm blanket, she struggled sleepily as she slowly realized that Ann was stripping every bit of clothes from her body. Horrified at being thus exposed, Lynne writhed feebly.

"Stop yer flopp'n abou' like a great fish an let me scrub ya down!" Ann said roughly and struck Lynne lightly but firmly on the cheek before pulling the shirt off over her victims head. Lynne looked down at her naked body and cringed away, trying her best to curl into herself while still standing up. Ann took no notice and dumped her unceremoniously into the tub of steaming water. To Lynn's surprise, it was pleasant. She had been in water before, mostly on the beaches, James had even taught her to swim. But she had never ever in her whole life been in _warm_ water. She floundered about in it, enjoying the warming feeling of the liquid in her bones, it was truly marvelous.

"Land sakes! What's a little girl do'in in these 'ere clothes?" Ann picked up the too big vest and pants, which had been cut off at the knees too fit her and even still were ragged at the ends from dragging in the dirt, and the bit of rope that served as a belt.

Lynne just looked up at Ann, unsure of how to respond. She wrapped her fingers around her feet and wiggled her toes in delight of the glorious water, happy that she didn't have to answer. But the happiness in the newfound wonder of the tub disappeared gradually as Lynn remembered where she had gotten her clothes. And suddenly, even though she was now sitting in a tub full of almost scalding water, with Anne clucking away beside her, Lynne felt very cold and very alone. James had made those clothes work for her. They were easier to use than a dress, and she wouldn't grow out of them so quickly.

Lynne looked around at the room that had comforted her only a few moments ago, slowly she began to remember in her little childlike mind that this little pleasure was only fleeting, that she would be fed and then thrown out like so much rubbish, that she would be outside again, all alone, with nobody to shelter her anymore. Lynne curled up tightly into a ball and rested her head between her knees, trying not to cry.

She didn't heed the rough touch of the ragged cloth as Ann began to scrub her down with potent homemade lye soap. She didn't complain as Ann lifted her roughly out of the small comfort of the warm water and onto the bed, her long black hair combed and braided. Ann had dug up one of her old dresses, a simple jumper made of unbleached muslin. Lynne didn't like it, but she was too self-conscious to object. Feeling cleaner and more neat than Lynn could ever remember feeling before in her life, Ann ushered her into the kitchen, where breakfast was just being put on; thick oatmeal with honey. Lynne's eyes widened at the sight, the food was so plentiful here, she felt as if she could stare at it forever and never grow accustomed to the sight.

However, she barely had time to glance at the table before she was told to sit in one of the chairs. Lynne's head was raised just a little over the plate, her being so small, so she shifted onto her knees so that she could see everything better. Cyrus was seated right beside her and gave her an encouraging smile before Mrs. Whickers hushed everybody for prayers.

Mr. Whickers was a portly man in his mid forties, his brown hairline had receded, leaving a shiny patch of skin at the top of his head that he usually wore a hat over, but it was gleaming in the morning light now as he had his hat off to say grace. He had a long pair of sideburns, reaching all the way down to his chin, and a round belly, but besides his rather jolly appearance, he was a more than usually serious man, in fact he smiled so little that the neighbors often wondered if he was quite well.

As sinfully impossible as it might have seemed to any properly brought up child at that time, Lynne couldn't recall ever being present during a prayer before, and so she gazed around at the occupants of the table curiously as the all closed their eyes and hung their heads while Mr. Whickers asked God in heaven to bless their humble meal. Lynne couldn't really understand the prayer, she had heard of God but didn't know who He was, and often wondered at the big fuss about Him, and besides that it didn't seem right to call such a banquet humble. If Lynne had been praying, she would have asked God to bless their illustrious feast rather than their humble meal.

But not wanting to seem ungrateful, Lynne contented herself with listening to Mr. Whickers' prayer in silence and watching the food that still seemed too good to be true to make sure it didn't disappear, as she was afraid it would if she closed her eyes or looked away.

Finally the prayer was over, and the still table of people awoke. General conversation broke out, and nobody really minded Lynne. Mrs. Whickers had explained the situation to a disapproving, but merciful Mr. Whickers, Cyrus had explained things to his little brother, a boy named Johnny slightly younger than Lynne. The only other child was too little to speak, and so he didn't really mind Lynne except for splattering her arm with oatmeal halfway through the meal and seeming very amused about it.

Lynne ate quietly, enjoying the food very much. When she had finished her firsts she reached for the oatmeal bowl again hesitantly, half expecting somebody to slap her hand and scold her for being greedy. Nobody did, and Lynne delighted, didn't stop eating until after her third bowl of oatmeal. Her stomach simply refused to hold another bite. So Lynne leaned back in her chair, being warm, full, and safe all at once was a new feeling for her. Lynne liked it very much, and it was quite easy to forget her present miseries. She yawned and closed her eyes, and hardly noticing, drifted off into a deep and contented sleep.

_**Jackson Lee Age: 12, 1685- Bristol Channel**_

Jackson yawned slowly and stretched out his limbs. The salty smell of the sea tickled his nostrils and he shook the sleep out of his head and smiled, looking about him. Apparently he had fallen asleep in the crow's nest again and nobody had bothered to haul him out. Jack was glad, he hated the musty hammocks below decks and had a heavy appreciation for the crow's nest, he often lugget a ragged coverlet up there with him in the evenings to fall asleep gazing at the sunset over the golden waters, a stolen scrap from the kitchens in his hand.

"Jack!" he heard his name called from below him on the decks. Looking around, Jack realized that they had made port sometime in the night and were now unloading the cargo.

"Jack! Where is that boy when ya need 'im, eh?" Jack smiled and cracked his neck, hopping to his feet and climbing like a monkey down the mainmast to land before his captain, who looked none too happy with the lateness of his arrival.

"There ya are boy!" The captain grabbed his arm and shoved him towards the kitchens. "Fetch yer captain a cup a coffee! An' be back directly, a got a few merchants what need to be taken care of!"

Jack threw Captain Merill a slapdash salute and skipped off to the kitchens, whistling merrily and quite tunelessly as only a boy can whistle. Jack was still very young, but he was surprisingly adept to life at sea, as the captain had realized soon after recruiting him. The boy had an almost uncanny knack for numbers and a good memory to boot, his skills were useful to have handy while the captain was making deals with local merchants. Jacks clever mind had saved the captain a number of times from swindled by other merchants.

"All right Jack, I think that's all I'll be needing you fer today." The captain slipped him a few silver coins. "Go and find yerself something to do." He smiled at the boy. Jack had just saved him from making a very unwise deal with a buyer.

Jack grinned widely as he stuffed the coins into his pocket. "Thank you captain." He no sooner said the words than he was bounding across the deck nimbly. He vaulted over the side and splashed ungracefully into the water.

Jack shivered as he hit the water and cursed under his breath, their ship had just come from the Caribbean and he was used to the tropic temperature, it was easy to forget how cold the English coast was.

He surfaced like a little cork and stayed above water where it was warmer. Jack was quite adept at swimming and like a little frog made his way to the docks.

An old shipmate was sitting there, fresh bread in his hand and bare feet dangling over into the water.

"Ahoy, Jack meboy." He hailed his little friend.

Jack climbed up next to him, resembling a washed up little mouse with his thick black hair plastered to his head and shaking involuntarily. The old seaman laughed "Couldn't jest walk down the loading ramp, could ya,"

"Luke!" Jack addressed his friend and took the bit of bread offered him thankfully. "I-I alw-ways di-did that in ja-ja-jamaica." He said through chattering teeth.

"Aye lad, 'tis only proper that a cabin boy 'ave 'is fun, but this 'ere is Whales me boy, even yeh'd be 'ard pressed ter 'ave a good time swimming I these 'ere waters. But don't go look'n down me boy, Swansea 'as 'er good points too. Go on an' take a good taste a' the bread, never any bread like that ter be found in Jamaica me lad, and that there's the truth of it."

Jack ripped a bite from the bit of bread in his salty hands. Luke was right, it was good, but Jack wasn't sure that good bread could compensate for lack of appropriately warm water.

"An' take a good swig of this." Luke handed Jack a bottle. As a cabin boy on a none too strictly rationed crew when it came to spirits, Jack was used to being exposed to alcohol. However, even as a boy, he much preferred the expensive wines rarely to be tasted than the cheap grog distributed amongst the crew. Nevertheless. Cheap grog was still capable of curbing his thirst and hunger, so Jack guzzled a mouthful of gin. It wasn't all that bad, definitely better than usual. Luke took back the bottle and tipped the remainder of its contents into his mouth.

"Nothing like a good English drink." Luke said, looking out at the Bristol Channel, which was abnormally sunny, so that the waves sparkled and shimmered.

Jack chewed the remainder of gin soaked bread in his mouth slowly, and glanced sidelong at Luke. The seaman seemed almost melancholy. Jack wondered why he wasn't in the taverns, gambling, drinking, and laughing with the rest of the crew.

"Nice day." Luke commented, still staring at the sea.

Jack didn't answer, the mysteries of the town were calling to him and he restlessly waited to be dismissed, not wanting to be impolite.

"I was born in England, yer know." Luke sighed heavily and looked down at the little cabin boy fidgeting beside him.

"'ow 'bout you?" Luke said, noting the boys dark skin. "Yer don't look like a proper English man."

"I don't know." Replied Jack honestly, he was warming up slowly in the sunlight.

"But who are yer parents? Eh boy?"

"I can't remember them. Blackie says I was born by a dog."

Luke chuckled. "Don't yer pay Blackie no mind, he ain't one of us, he don't know nothing."

Jack stood up, tired of waiting around "Well see ya around Luke!" he said grinning boyishly.

"You go an' 'ave yer fun boy." Luke pulled his thin lips back from his tobacco worn teeth in a smile.

"Thank you for the food!" Jack said over his shoulder as he skipped off into the town, whistling merrily.

Jack loved the sea, he loved everything about it, the waves, the wind, the temperamental weather, the places you could go and the things you could do if you only had a ship. He loved outwitting the merchants and measuring the charts, looking at the stars and watching the sunsets over the endless waters from the crows nest.

One of his favorite parts about the sea life though was the part where you went into town. Every place they went was different, and exciting. The Spanish with their colorful dances and spicy foods, the French with their sprawling gardens and fashionable clothes, the Irish with their strong beers, the Scottish bagpipes, the adventurous Americans, he had even been to an American Indian tribe once. As soon as the work and trading was over Jack would always jump off the ship with his wages plus some (benefit of being a captains favorite) and he would enjoy encountering people he would never meet again.

Jack would spend his wages on food and other attractions, then, just when he was beginning to get bored with the local boys and food the ship would be departing and it would be back to the seas for the next couple months.

Jack decided to spend his first day in the tavern pinching pockets and sneaking scraps of food. He liked to spend his first few days ashore hoarding money and spending it all on a good time when it was almost time to leave. There was no better place for pilfering than the local tavern, where people were often too drunk to take note of anything.

Then of course there was a downside in messing with drunks too, thought Jack as he entered the tavern to see two men fighting on the floor beside the door and the rest either laughing uproariously or too absorbed in other activities to notice.

Jack sidestepped the brawling men carefully and slipped silently behind a table full of gambling men. The man who Jack was standing directly behind was holding a two of clubs and a queen of diamonds. There were three diamonds and a five of spades on the table, so all in all, if they were indeed playing poker, the man had a useless hand. But when the question came around, rather than pulling out, the man put in the remainder of his gambling tender. Jack kept a straight face, he knew this was a crucial point, a single slip of the expression could give the man away. The question went around the table, and slowly, painfully so, each man shook his head in defeat and slapped his cards on the table for the dealer to pick up. The man's bluff had been successful, he leaned forward and scooped all the money up.

"Well, that's enough for me." He declared with a satisfied sigh.

"Oh c'mon, said another ill-tempered player. "give us a chance to win back some of that money."

"I don't think so." He laughed, pushing his chair back and scooping all the money into a large wallet. "Actually I'm doing you a favor by allowing you to keep that money that could easily be mine." He stood up with his prize tucked safely in his pocket, but as he turned around he caught sight of Jack.

"Hullo! What's a young rascal like you doing in a man's tavern?" Jack stepped back his eyes fixed on the mans handsome face, he had dark skin and hair, like similar to the young cabin boy, only instead of deep brown eyes he had a pair of muddy green ones that stood out strongly in contrast to the thick lashes that framed them.

"Came to find my father and ask him for a shilling." Jack mumbled evasively, it was an often used lie, and usually worked.

This time though, the man just smiled indulgently and winked at Jack, "sure you have." He said obviously unconvinced. "You've been watching me play have you?" The man asked him, Jack noticed that his accent was slightly foreign, and wondered where he was from, but didn't answer the question. Instead Jack just stared back at the man, wondering vaguely if he shouldn't just run away.

"C'mere boy, don't be scared." The man motioned at Jack.

Jack had been determined to keep his distance but when the man implied that it was out of fear he straightened his back proudly and stepped up right beside the tall gambler boldly.

"I am not scared of you." He stated plainly, and set his jaw.

The corner of the mans mouth twitched slightly. "I know that, don't worry." He sat back down at the gambling table and motioned the dealer.

"I've had a change of heart, let the game recommence."

There was a general noise of glee as the dark man pulled the small fortune back out of his pocket. Jack stood a his side awkwardly, wondering if the man had forgotten him, or if he was simply trying to make the boy uncomfortable. However, now that Jack had witnessed how much money the man had stashed away he wasn't about to leave the gamblers side until he'd gotten a pinch; but, as if he could here Jacks thoughts, the man turned around sharply to face the boy.

"What's your name." he said abruptly, the twinkle of humor still glowing behind his eyes.

"Archie." Jack lied easily.

"Good to meet you Archie." The man extended his hand for jack to shake. "I'm Todd Wisdom, just Todd will do."

"Hello _Mr. Wisdom_." Jack replied rather pointedly.

Mr. Wisdom only smiled, and leaned forward so he could whisper something to Jack. Jack held his head erect, so that Mr. Wisdom would have to lean further and therefore shift into an awkward position, but rather than comply, Mr. Wisdom only pulled Jack firmly towards himself.

"Watch me." He said softly in Jacks ear and leaned back grinning before turning his attention to the game.

Jack stood there silently, and watched as commanded, he told himself that he was waiting for an opportunity to snatch some coins, but quite truthfully, with Mr, Wisdom, and being allowed to watch the game rather than being shoved aside and cursed for helping other players cheat, it was all rather intriguing to Jack. So he stood there, and from time to time Mr. Wisdom would whisper some tip to Jack, about reading other people, or about the cards, in general, Mr. Wisdom was teaching Jack about the entire network of strategy involved in the seemingly mindless game. They stayed in the stuffy gambling bar for hours, and the stack of money beside Mr. Wisdom grew steadily larger.

Todd knew all the tricks of poker, he knew how to win, when to win, when to lose, how to keep his apposing players hopes up just enough to keep them playing, how to read the slightest movement. He was invariably an expert, and Jack soon realized that he was learning from none but the best, and that he might be receiving something more important than a few pounds.

_**Lynne Chandler Age: 7, 1685- Swansea Wales **_

Lynne awoke very slowly, so that first she was vaguely aware of her limbs as her mind warmed to her surroundings, then she began to wonder where she was, so she opened her eyes, slowly. She felt warm and comfortable, in a soft bed. There was a dusky darkness all around her, and an almost eerie quiet, the kind only found inside for walls. Outside there is never complete silence, always, the breaking of the waves on the ships or the singing of night birds and trilling of crickets.

Lynne shook the hair out of her eyes and sat up, wiggling her little toes in a thick pair of socks inside a quilt, which she was wrapped in like a little burrito, there was a flat pillow beneath her head, but being used to either flooring or dirt as a headrest it seemed to be made of feathers.

She lay back down luxuriously, the night before, full of its wondrous baths and magnificent dinner was coming back to Lynne's memory in slow increments, as she snuggled back into the blanket. Then she shot back up the face of her deceased brother seemed to loom above her, just as he had looked before he died. Now he was lying there, in an ally with only a wheelbarrow for cover, forgotten whilst Lynne lay unfaithfully beneath the cozy comforts of her newfound home. To her seven year-old mind it was simply wrong to leave her brother like that.

Slowly, she wriggled from beneath the heavy quilt and out into the chill night air. Ann turned fitfully in the bed, but thankfully didn't wake.

Quiet as a mouse, Lynne padded into the kitchen, socks softening the sound of her footsteps. She slowly lifted the bolt from the heavy door, opened it a crack, and slipped away into the night. The Whickers had tossed her old clothes into the street, and Lynne, removing her socks, so as not to dirty them, ran out and pulled the dirty clothes from the gutter and onto her shivering form, she felt much more comfortable with her brothers clothes about her body. As if she could face the world now that a vestige of her brothers memory could adorn her. Besides, these loose fitting clothes were a lot easier to move around in.

Lynne headed down the street determinedly in the direction of her former home. As she walked she began to realize just how dark it was and just how very alone she had become. There was no Cyrus to extend a friendly hand and show her the way, only the sound of waves on the dock, or the scuttle of a rat, frightened by her presence. But to the apprehensive seven year old on her way to bury her dead brother, each noise represented a hidden goblin or ghost awaiting its prey.

_**Jackson Lee Age: 12, 1685- Swansea Wales**_

It was very late, and very dark, Jack had certainly not intended to stay so late, but time had escaped him as he watched Todd work what seemed like magic at the card tables.

"Well, Archie, it was very nice to have met you. I hope, if fate decides to be so kind, that we may meet again." Mr. Wisdom tipped his hat, and gave a slight bow. Jack stood silently slightly awed but too proud to show it. "Oh, and, here is a little something for you, as I detained you from retrieving your fathers shilling." Todd tossed a small drawstring bag to jack, who caught it deftly. His fingers could feel several thick coins beneath the cotton spun covering, and he was delighted to find that each coin was an entire gold crown, and there were, one, two, four, six, eight of them! Quite generous, this little bag contained six months pay!

Jack whistled, and put the money safely in his pocket. He looked up to see his wealthy friend, but Todd Wisdom was gone. Jack shrugged, it had been a profitable night, he had pilfered a few pretty pennies too, but they hardly compared to the little drawstring bag in his pocket. Jack was sure that he would save the crowns for something special, he wouldn't just fritter them away like he did his other money, he would use them wisely.

Jack was deep in thought, considering for the first time wether he should start saving his money in order to buy a ship. When a dark figure ran headlong into his waist and bounced off quite promptly, only to fall rather ungracefully to the pavement.

Jack paused momentarily, startled, but once he reassured himself that the pile of rags at his feet was not a demon after his sinful soul but a rather small person, he knelt and helped the thing to its feet. To his surprise a round and startled pair of soft blue eyes greeted him, a girl!

"Hey! What're you doing running about like that, and so late into the evening?"

"I… I have some things to do, now if you'll please excuse me." The girl tried to shove past him, but he grasped her arm firmly.

"But why are you wearing a boys clothes?"

"Let go." Came her angry reply.

"But I haven't heard an apology for nearly knocking me sideways just now!"

"Well don't look to me for one! You're a despicable boy to keep me like this!"

Jack worked his mouth a few times, not sure what to say, he had never met such a determined little girl before, in Jacks experience they were either shy and quiet creatures, barely worthy of notice, or bothersome pests that one could only hope to keep his distance from.

Taking advantage of his momentary shock, Lynne twisted her arm around so that Jack loosened his hold and wrenched herself free.

"Don't ever do that!" she reprimanded fiercely. Before turning on her heel in a dignified manner and walking on.

Jack glanced about at the dark, a man was warbling drunkenly in some nearby alley, but other than that, things seemed still. And Jack wasn't ready to go to bed quite yet.

He followed the strange girl at a respectful distance, but she didn't seem to notice his presence. She was now hurrying along the streets, peering into the alleyways fervently. The moonlight glowed dimly threw a break in the clouds and for a moment, Jack could see everything clearly. The light reflected off the girls silky black hair as she was turned toward one particular ally, her eyes shone with a strange light, tears glistening in their depths. Her soft, perfect skin glowed as white as a corpses in the pale illumination, but so much more alive. She blinked slowly, as if steeling herself, and when her eyes reopened, the vague but intense sorrow disappeared, and she slipped silently into the ally.

_**Lynne Chandler Age: 7, 1685- Swansea Wales**_

The eyes were still open, staring blankly at the dark clouds above. Gently her little fingers closed them shut, so that he looked as if he could be sleeping, were it not for the unnatural pallor that adorned his once animate features. Her hand lingered on his stiff cheek, hoping for a moment, that it was all some terrible and morbid trick, that life would again flood his rosy lips, she drew her hand slowly over his face. There was no comfort to be found there, only a dark absence that Lynne couldn't fully understand, and therefore it frightened her. She didn't feel fear of any particular thing, That was just it, she wasn't sure what she was afraid for.

She shook her head once to dispel these thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Slowly, respectfully, she grasped her late brothers wrists and began to pull. He was far heavier than Lynne had anticipated, and she had only made a few feet before she was force to stop, panting, for a breather.

"Need help?" A familiar voice sounded behind her. She spun around, to face the impertinent boy who had detained her a few moments ago.

"Go away!" she cried, angry that her last moments with her brother were spoiled by his presence.

The boy only blinked. "Sorry about a few moments ago, really shouldn'ta lost my temper like that." He extended his hand "My names Jackson Lee. You can call me Jack if ya like."

Lynne glanced disdainfully at his hand, she was not in the best of moods, being so tired, besides, he was acting as if her forgiveness was only natural, as if she could pardon his intrusion on her privacy so easily.

"Why did you follow me?" she demanded.

"Thought you might need some help, I'm a cabin boy see, and right handy to have around in a pinch, if I do say so myself. It looks to me like your in a bit of a pinch as it is, a lucky thing I followed you, the way I see it, miss."

A spark of interest lighted her eyes when she heard he was a cabin boy. "Really? A cabin boy? On what ship?"

"_The Lightfoot_" Jack tilted his chin proudly. "'ts a fine English ship, a merchant ship. I've been about everywhere there is to go!"

Lynne smiled excitedly. "Really? Have you been to the America's or the… the…" she stuttered as the spark began to fade and she remembered her surroundings. But she didn't feel quite so badly towards the boy, and was a bit embarrassed for being so short with him, after all he was just trying to help. Plus, there was no doubt that she could use a hand…

"I'm Lynne." She grasped the hand that had been extended a few moments ago and shook it. "Lynne Chandler, but you can call me Lynne."


End file.
